


all the world's a stage

by iron_spider



Series: whumptober 2019 [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drowning, F/M, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Metaphorical, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 04:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21068786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: Tony hears white noise over the next few words out of Rhodey’s mouth, a high pitched tone going off in his ears. He steps closer to them, trying to listen, but he only hears thrashing, sees the flashes of white again. He thinks he hears voices coming from the walls. His own body trembling, even though he’s not, even though he’s—standing here. Still.He tastes the metal. He wants to watch them go, wants to make sure they’re safe, but his headthrobslike something hard hit him, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight. The world is all darkness, the kind of darkness that ate at him before he woke up and found a hole in his chest, the kind that shakes like electrocution, and he needs a suit, he needs a suit, this asshole, whoever he is, he did something to this place, did something to Tony—He opens his eyes when he hears Peter’s voice.





	all the world's a stage

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the whumptober prompt 'stay with me'! TW for depictions of drowning.

Tony takes uneasy steps. 

He’s in an auditorium, no—he’s in a theater, and it seems to warp around the edges of his eyes when he tries to look around, hiding its secrets from him, phasing in and out of his vision like a trick. He wishes Strange was here—Strange could portal him to where he wanted to be, stop all the bullshit. He wishes he had a fucking suit. 

His mouth tastes like metal, but he’s not bleeding. 

He has the inclination to talk to Friday, to demand an outline of the building, signs of life, where the fucking bad guy is—who is he after again?—but he’d just be bitching out into the void, because it’s just him, just flesh and blood, just human weakness. He doesn’t even have a gun.

All he knows is that he has to find them. He has to find them—them, which them, who—Pepper. Pepper, Rhodey, Happy. And Peter. Peter. He’s gotta protect the kid. 

(the kid can protect himself, but not now, not right now, something’s wrong, Tony knows it)

Jesus, Tony’s head hurts. He feels like his limbs are locking up, and he’s gotta stay loose, he’s gotta stay alert.

The first one he runs across is Happy. He’s splayed out on the ground in the main lobby, and the place looks like it’s been through an explosion, black burn streaks on the walls and all over the ground. Happy’s got blood on his face, running across his eyebrow. Tony rushes over, kneeling next to him, helping him sit up. They both groan, and Tony feels like his own heartbeat is being played over loudspeakers. Booms like earthquakes.

“Hap,” Tony says, supporting the back of Happy’s head. “What the hell is going on, are you alright? Jesus—”

“Tony,” Happy says, latching onto Tony’s arm, wincing. “You gotta keep going—”

“Keep going?” Tony asks, narrowing his eyes. He feels insane, he’s gotta take care of this—whatever the hell is happening. He wets his lips. “You’re bleeding, big man, where’s everybody else? I can’t—” He shakes his head, and he’s just about done with this shit, because he can’t remember why he’s here, what’s going on, who he’s chasing. And now Happy’s hurt, and the others—he knows the others are here too, he doesn’t know why he knows but he _knows_, and it feels like alarm bells are going off, like there are hands all over him. Blinking red lights. He gets a flash of whiteness, of brightness, and he feels like he’s sinking. Quicksand. Like he can’t breathe. “Happy,” Tony says, trying to refocus. “Talk to me, talk to me, we gotta get the hell outta here, where’s everybody else?”

“Tony, I’m—I’m okay,” Happy says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and he looks far from okay. “Shit, he rattled my brain in my head, but I’m—I’m alright. I’m alright.”

Tony remembers when he almost lost him, years back, before whatever year they’re in now—he remembers the sterility of that hospital, how Happy looked lying there, the dark welts and bruises—Tony swallows hard, tightens his grip on him. 

“You need to keep looking,” Happy says. “Pep, Rhodey, the kid—they’re all here. They’re trapped.”

That sends some kind of potent horror through Tony’s chest, and he nods, helping Happy to his feet. “Get outside,” Tony says, holding steady eye contact. “Call the others in—Steve, Nat, Clint—get Bruce to Hulk out, I don’t care, just get them here. Whoever you can, whoever answers.”

Happy nods, gives him a long look, and then he goes, heading for the exit.

It’s like time skips, and Tony gets another flash of whiteness, gets another taste of metal, like it’s coating his tongue. Fresh paint. He feels like he’s sinking in acid, his skin eating away, and he looks down at his hands—they’re still there, everything’s still normal. He’s here, he’s here, solid, scared. Fear prickles all over him, and he doesn’t wanna be afraid like this when his people need him. 

He’s standing in the middle of the aisle now, inside the theater itself. The ground looks old, the chairs moth-eaten, the once grand lights creaking and swinging, like they’re ready to come crashing down. 

The whole place is crumbling.

“What the fuck is going on?” he mutters, trying to get that taste out of his mouth.

“Tony,” Pepper’s voice says. 

Tony turns around on the spot, ears pricked up, chills running through him. “Pep?” he calls. “Pep? Pep? Where are you?” He turns around again, and doesn’t see her anywhere, his heart raging and dipping, stuttering—metal, metal in his mouth. An ache at the base of his skull. His arms heavy and useless, chopped and wrenched from his body. 

“Pepper!” he yells, voice rough with emotion and the grit of his fear. Then he sees her—he takes a few harried steps towards the stage—and he’s horrified.

She’s supporting Rhodey, who’s barely walking on his own two feet, and it looks like she’s—it looks like she’s burned, her clothes ripped in a few places, her skin charred and blistering.

“Baby,” he breathes, out of his own accord, and he stumbles over to her and Rhodey, unsure who to touch first. He’s useless, he’s fucking useless, and he needs backup, he needs backup _yesterday_. He grabs Pepper’s arm, somewhere there isn’t a wound, and Rhodey’s shoulder, quickly lowering them to the ground.

“What happened?” Tony whispers, too afraid to raise his voice, though he wants to, he wants to start wailing—for help, in pain, and his stomach is pangs of panic. “Pep, what—”

She leans her forehead on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her, still holding onto Rhodey with his other hand. “There was a fire,” she says, breathing deeply, like she’s still recovering from it. “He fell, he fell so far, and I could barely get out of it—”

“Rhodey,” Tony says, and he reaches over, tips Rhodey’s chin up with his hand. “Look at me, c’mon—”

“We were in the rafters,” Pepper says, and she shoves herself closer to him, wincing. “He was everywhere, Tony, he’s—I don’t know about this guy—”

“Rhodes, eyes up,” Tony says, a little more assertive, his heart in his throat now.

“Tones, I’m—I’m okay—”

Tony wilts a little bit, dizzy and swaying, and he glances over the two of them, trying to take it all in, and the more he looks, the sicker he feels. He’s gotta get them out of here, how the fuck can this be happening, he’s gotta get them safe, he’s gotta get them safe—

“You two gotta go,” Tony says, looking up and around, trying to make sure they aren’t gonna get ambushed. “Is the building still on fire?”

“No,” Pepper says, still nuzzling into his neck, and he doesn’t wanna let go of her, of either of them. Rhodey, falling—shit, that can’t happen again, that _cannot_ happen—and a fucking fire, Pepper hurt—Tony can’t think, he can’t, he _needs_ his damn suit—

“Okay, Pep, can you get him out of here?” Tony asks, leaning away a bit so he can look at her. Jesus, she’s got so many burns, some covering her arms like a charcoal sheet, and Tony feels like he’s gonna throw up. “You got a straight shot, honey, go right up the aisle and into the lobby, out the door, get as far away from this place as possible. I sent Happy the same way.”

“Did you call for backup?” Rhodey asks, looking up and meeting his eyes. He doesn’t look good. His eyes are bloodshot, unfocused, and Tony is _this_ close to dissolving into hysterics. Everyone here, everyone that’s hurt, missing, are the closest people to him. The most important people in his life. He can’t picture the fucking bad guy’s face, though he knows he’s seen him. He’s stepped in shadow. He’s threatening everything Tony holds dear, and Tony can’t fucking stand for that shit.

“I did,” Tony says, grabbing onto both of them and straining to get them back to their feet. “Or, I told Happy to, which is just as good.”

“I don’t like you in here on your own,” Pepper says. “I don’t wanna leave you—”

“You gotta,” Tony says, and he leans in, presses a long kiss to the corner of her mouth. She’s still hot all over, and he’s _terrified_. “I gotta go find the kid. Go straight out, I’ll be right behind once I have him—”

“Tony,” Rhodey says, clearly trying not to put all of his weight on Pepper as Tony urges them forward, towards the door. “This guy, he’s—”

Tony hears white noise over the next few words out of Rhodey’s mouth, a high pitched tone going off in his ears. He steps closer to them, trying to listen, but he only hears thrashing, sees the flashes of white again. He thinks he hears voices coming from the walls. His own body trembling, even though he’s not, even though he’s—standing here. Still.

He tastes the metal. He wants to watch them go, wants to make sure they’re safe, but his head _throbs_ like something hard hit him, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight. The world is all darkness, the kind of darkness that ate at him before he woke up and found a hole in his chest, the kind that shakes like electrocution, and he needs a suit, he needs a suit, this asshole, whoever he is, he did something to this place, did something to Tony—

He opens his eyes when he hears Peter’s voice.

He’s backstage now, and this looks worse—water stained walls, moldy curtains falling, wires tangled up like spider webs. But there’s—there’s a massive glass tank in front of him, full of water, and he sees Peter himself standing at the top of a moldering ladder behind it. His hands are cuffed in front of him, and he’s breathing hard, fear in his eyes. 

There’s someone shadowy behind him, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Let him go, asshole,” Tony says, tremors in his voice. All the others are out. They’re safe, but Peter—Peter’s in danger, and Tony doesn’t have a suit. This is all on a hair trigger. He could fuck it up. He could fuck it up, and Peter could—no, Tony can’t think about that. It can’t happen. Not again. “Let him go, take me.”

“No, Tony—” Peter starts, but then the shadowy dickhead yanks him backwards by his hair. 

Tony takes a step forward without thinking about it, in pure rage. 

Then he sees the man’s face.

It’s—it’s him. It’s himself. It’s him, Tony fucking Stark, and the doppelgänger grins when he sees confusion pass over Tony’s face. The double looks at Peter menacingly. He doesn’t say anything, nothing at all. The silence is thick and stifling.

“What the hell is this?” Tony yells, his mind jumping to all kinds of conclusions, his heart skipping beats. His doppelgänger has a Cheshire grin, and it unnerves Tony, especially with him so close to Peter. 

And then he dumps Peter into the water, slamming the top closed.

“No!” Tony yells, watching the water fill with bubbles as Peter thrashes around. Tony weaves around the tank, tries to chase after the doppelgänger, but he’s nowhere to be found, lost in the shadows like he was before. Tony curses to himself, freaking the fuck out, and he rushes up the ladder, one of the rungs breaking under his feet. He keeps going. “Hold on, kid, hold on,” Tony yells, wondering if Peter can even hear him—

The top is locked. Tony tries and he tries and he tries to peel it up, but he fucking can’t because he’s not strong enough—

Metal, blood in his mouth—

He jumps down, moving back around to the front of the tank, and he sees Peter slamming his wrists into the glass, trying to break it. Tony nods, not watching the way Peter is holding his breath, like a child at a swimming pool—and he glances around, finds a crowbar on the ground, covered in a fine sheen of dust. Tony grabs it, rushes back, starts hitting the same point on the glass that Peter’s working on.

A flash of white walls. Talking. Static. 

“Stay with me, Pete,” Tony says, slamming the end of the crowbar into the glass, over and over and over. “Stay with me, stay with me.”

Peter keeps hitting it too, with the hardness of the handcuffs, but then a line of bubbles comes out of his mouth. His eyes go wide, his brows furrowed, his blows getting a little less forceful. But he’s still trying. Over and over and over.

“No, no, no,” Tony says, hitting harder, harder. That tone goes off in his ears again, just loud enough that he can still hear himself pleading. “Fucking no, no, no way. Stay with me, Peter, c’mon, kid, c’mon.”

Peter’s body convulses once, and he paws at the glass with both hands.

The world shakes at the edges of Tony’s vision, darkening. He can only see Peter.

“Come on, goddamnit, break,” Tony says, slamming into the glass harder, harder, watching it splinter under the crowbar’s hits.

Peter’s eyes are full of fear, and Tony feels like his heart is gonna explode. This can’t happen _it can’t happen_, and the kid shudders again, one hand reaching for his own throat, the other straining against the handcuffs, still trying to reach for Tony. He trembles, wincing. He convulses again, his mouth gaping open.

Tony knows what drowning feels like. He’s been water boarded. And this is so much fucking worse. Peter is in _pain_. He’s dying. Right in front of him.

There are tears in Tony’s eyes but he keeps working, keeps working, because it can’t happen, it can’t, he can’t lose Peter, he can’t lose him—

Static. Agony. Buzzing. Darkness, in and out.

Peter just floats there, unmoving, eyes open wide. 

Tony’s soul shatters. He knows. He _knows_. But it can’t be, it can’t. It can’t be. Not him, not again. “No, no,” Tony breathes, gasping. “No, no, no, please.”

He keeps working and working until the glass breaks and the water floods out in a wave, Peter along with it. He’s limp as a ragdoll, and Tony falls to his knees, gathering him up in his arms.

“Stay with me, Pete, c’mon, you can’t—you can’t—” Tony’s trembling fingers try and find Peter’s pulse, but there’s nothing, no heartbeat, no hope, none at all. Peter’s face is slack, eyes unmoving, unfocused. 

“No,” Tony sobs, touching his cheek. His _kid_, his Peter. He’s gone, he’s gone, and Tony can’t do shit. He never could. He did this to him. 

“Kid, stay with me, please.”

Metal in his mouth. A wave of darkness. The world collapsing in on itself.

It’s all too fast.

~

“Stay with me, Pete,” Tony whispers, his head lolling back and forth on the pillow.

Everyone is still rushing around, especially Bruce and Helen, but Peter moves in closer to Tony’s side, listening hard.

“Did you hear him?” Peter asks, glancing up at Pepper, who’s sitting across the bed, trying to stay out of the way. 

“What?” Pepper asks, concern in her eyes. “Did he say something?”

Helen walks over, injecting something into Tony’s IV. She quickly moves away, her flats clicking on the tile floor. She and Bruce meet in the middle, going over something on Bruce’s tablet.

“Stay with me, kid, c’mon,” Tony whispers, clearer this time. 

“He’s calling for you,” Pepper says, brows drawn taut. “Go over there—Bruce, Peter’s gonna hold his hand.”

“Okay,” Bruce says, fast.

Peter rolls his chair over, and quickly picks Tony’s hand up, placing it in his own. He’s been so afraid, since this all started, but this is the first time Tony’s said anything. And it’s about _him. _

“Kid,” Tony whispers. 

Peter’s heart does something between soaring and sinking, and he doesn’t know what the hell to do.

“We’re about to give him oxygen,” Bruce says. “What we just gave him should start to counteract the poison, but it’s gonna take a while to get him back.”

“Why do you think he’s worried about me?” Peter asks, looking up at Pepper. “I was—I was nowhere near the contamination zone, he made sure of that.”

“He’s always worried about you, Peter,” Pepper says, softly. 

Peter sighs. It had just been a regular bullshit mission. Heavily armed guys busting into some weird containment center. But then there was poison. Then Tony got injected, and Peter felt like the world was ending. Tony’s been out of it since, Bruce and Helen rushing around trying to figure out an antiserum, and Peter hasn’t left his side since they got here. Rhodey is out with Steve and Nat trying to cover cleanup, and every time the door opens, Peter sees Happy sitting outside. As if he’s standing guard. 

“Pete, wake up,” Tony breathes, his eyebrows furrowing. “Please. Please, stay—stay with me.”

Peter scoots closer, his throat getting tight. “Tony, I’m right here,” he says, his voice breaking. “I’m right here, I’m okay. Just—just—you’re the one that needs to be okay, okay?” He shifts his mouth to the side, squeezing his hand. He hates seeing Tony like this. He doesn’t like for Pepper to see Tony like this.

He tries to stop himself from crying, and he leans down, resting his forehead on Tony’s arm.

“He’ll be alright, sweetheart,” Pepper says. “Helen and Bruce are gonna take care of it.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. He squeezes his hand again, and hates that this happens to them so often. It feels like he’s constantly living in fear of losing Tony. And vice versa. 

He just wants him to wake up.

~

Tony groans, scrunching his eyes shut tight. He feels like he’s been fucking steamrolled—he’s mush, he’s pulp, he’s not anything resembling a human being. 

He remembers watching Peter drown. In that tank. Right in front of him.

The whole thing felt so strange, so...off, but that pain, that—agony, of holding Peter’s dead body in his arms—Tony remembers that. He remembers every excruciating detail, and it makes him feel like he’s sinking. Rushing pressure crushing him. 

He’s in a bed now, he knows that much. He turns his head to the right, feeling the tears already starting to gather, and he wipes at his eyes as he opens them. The first thing he sees is Pepper. And she’s—she’s fine. No burns, no wounds, no—no nothing. 

“Tony,” she says, reaching out, smiling at him softly, tilting her head to look at him. She rubs his arm up and down. “Hey, babe.”

“You’re not burned,” Tony whispers, narrowing his eyes. 

She looks at him strangely, shaking her head. “Burned?” she asks. 

“You were,” he almost slurs, the pain in his head and everywhere else too much to bear. “You, and—and Rhodey—and Happy was—he was—Jesus, it was such a clusterfuck—”

“Honey, you were poisoned on the Halliston Inc. mission,” she says, her gaze intent. “You were—you were unconscious, delirious, I think you were having some kind of fever dream. You were out for a good six hours. We’re all okay. Everyone’s fine. Rhodey’s doing cleanup detail, with the press now, but he should be back soon. He’s checked in about a hundred times. And Happy’s right outside. He keeps thinking the whole thing was an excuse to get at you, so he’s standing out there ready to attack anybody that looks the wrong way.”

Tony stares at her. It feels too good to be true. “Peter,” he says. “I—I watched him die, I couldn’t—I couldn’t save him—” His breath catches when he remembers his own face, on the person holding Peter captive. Menacing and macabre. Like someone was parading around in his corpse. 

Pepper shakes her head, fast. 

Then Tony hears a voice.

“I’m right here,” Peter says, softly. 

Tony turns, slowly, to the other side of his bed. Peter is sitting right there, with that look on his face like he’s afraid, his brows knitted together, breathing through his mouth. He manages a small little smile, his eyes getting wider when Tony really focuses on him. 

It feels like the world is rebuilding itself. Like the sun is shining again, like everything he saw is falling down and disappearing into a thin mist. It felt _so real_ and those feelings are still clinging to him, wrapping around his aching heart, but Peter is right here. He’s right here, he’s alive. Jesus, he’s _alive._

“Kid, can you...can you c’mere?” Tony stammers, his eyes filling with tears again. “I’m—in desperate need of a hug from you right now.”

Peter smiles, bright and genuine, and he doesn’t waste any time closing the distance between them. Tony pushes himself up a little bit and then he’s got an armful of Peter, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder. Tony clutches at him, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and he cradles the back of Peter’s head, carding his fingers through his hair. The amount of relief he feels is enough to flood a desert, and he loves Peter, he loves him, this is his kid, his son, for all intents and purposes. He lost him once, it felt like he had lost him again, and like that—like that—

“It’s okay,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s shoulder, rubbing his back. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks. “You better be, Pete.”

Tony knows the dream, the nightmare, whatever the hell it was, it had to have meant something, the way it was set up, all the goddamn layers—feels like something Pepper told him about poetry once, a long time ago. But it also feels like something he shouldn’t feel anymore. The poison drawing up his own doubts inside of him. A Tony Stark Production.

They’re all okay. And Peter’s alive. He’s right here. Tony’s got him. 

“Don’t worry,” Peter whispers. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

Tony closes his eyes, and tries to remember how to breathe. Peter pulls back after a couple long moments, and Tony looks him up and down, to make sure this isn’t some sort of trick. Peter grabs his hand, holding it between both of his own.

“What was it?” Peter asks. “The—the dream, what—what happened to me?”

Tony doesn’t even wanna say it out loud. “Let’s just say, I’d like you to avoid any beach or pool trips for the near future.”


End file.
